Heirloom
by The Inamorata
Summary: If two demigods live long enough to have children, what is the result? A mortal? A demigod? Or something far more powerful? Percy, Annabeth, and their children discover just what their place is in the Greek hierarchy, and it's not what they expected.
1. Chapter 1

**Heirloom**

**By The Inamorata**

**Original Publish Date: October 13, 2011**

A/N: This is my first Percy Jackson fanfic. It will be multiple parts, though how many I'm not sure of yet. Reviews with constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

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><p><strong>Heirloom - Chapter One<strong>

A clock ticked rhythmically in the dark. Heavy breathing, sheets rustling, and then a footstep. A single creak of the floorboards, quiet, barely there, but it was like an alarm clock blaring in his ears. And then a whisper.

"Annabeth."

Their eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. The woman, Annabeth, lay comfortably under the sheets, her fair hair spilling over the pillows, but her eyes were wide open, staring at the man who sat at the edge of the bed.

His legs were already over the edge, his back as straight as board, his eyes meeting hers in an unspoken connection. In the darkness she could see the shadow of light stubble across his chin, his shaggy hair that he never had the desire to cut short, and broad, bare shoulders. She could see his arm, slightly raised at the ready, a ballpoint pen in hand. She nodded.

A cold silence moved through the house like a shadow. Everything was quiet, even the clock. They could feel a darkness sweep over them, a darkness their eyes couldn't adjust to, making their blood turn to ice and their hearts beat slower, like a lethargic, hopeless sleep. But Percy Jackson was well trained for situations like this—he just didn't think it would happen. Not here.

He moved silently across the floorboards, his feet well adapted to avoid the parts the creaked. Annabeth moved just as quietly, and even Percy couldn't hear her behind him, but he could sense it. After all of these years fighting side by side in battle, of their deepest moments of intimacy, they had almost become one being; feeling each others movements and emotions, predicting what the other would think and say. They were inseparable.

Their bedroom door had been kept cracked—it was Annabeth's idea, for emergencies, and this was definitely the time for it. They brushed past it easily, even in the absolute darkness. The feeling of helplessness grew thicker, darkness and despair flooding into all parts of his body, but Percy continued unafraid. How many times had he done this before? Nothing could scare him easily now, but that wasn't to be mistaken with overconfidence. It was reality.

Finally he uncapped the pen, a dull glow emerging from the small object into a fully formed sword of Celestial Bronze, emitting a dull glow that could just barely penetrate the darkness.

What they saw in the small amount of light surprised the both of them. A small boy, no older than ten, with a mess of black hair and olive skin sat cross-legged on the hardwood playing with trading cards and statuettes. Percy would never forget the boy, even if he hadn't seen him for twenty-two years.

"Nico," he said quietly. "But how?"

The boy looked up, his large, dark eyes reflecting off of Percy's blade.

"You can put that down now," he said, a bemused expression on his face.

"But you're dead," Percy said, not moving his sword.

Nico simply shrugged. "So I died. Is it so surprising that the son of Hades would get special privileges?"

Percy and Annabeth exchanged nervous glances, not completely trusting of this newcomer to their household.

"I understand," Nico said with a sigh. He stood and the cards and figurines disappeared in a puff of smoke. "I'm only here to pass on a message, anyway."

Percy examined him for several moments, then recapped his pen. "It must be pretty serious for you to come all the way out here," he said. "Come on, let's sit."

Annabeth and Percy's kitchen was nothing like a typical household kitchen. Annabeth had designed the spacious room herself, with floor-to-ceiling windows that moved in a semi-circle across the entirety of the kitchen. It made up an entire side of the house, which sat upon a cliff overlooking a wide expanse of evergreens and a dazzling lake that shimmered in the moonlight. There was a door to a small outside kitchen deck supported by large white Greek columns into the cliff face. On the opposite side of the kitchen were the cooking appliances and counter space along the far wall. Everything else was crystal clear window.

The three of them sat at the kidney-bean shaped table, its longest edge the same curvature as the windows. They didn't turn on any lights, as the moonlight filtering through was enough illumination to see by. Nico drummed his fingers on the table, looking bored, and the two watched him expectantly.

"I wasn't going to come, originally, but I couldn't pass up a visit, Percy, Annabeth" he said. "Or what was it they called you at the office? Mrs. Jackson?"

Annabeth smiled; she'd gotten used to the name over the years, so it stopped making her flush long ago.

"You've been spying," she said, looking amused. "We should have noticed."

Nico shrugged again. "Retiring can do that to you."

"We're not retired," Percy said agitatedly. "We just _settled down._"

"Right, well, whatever you're calling it, your senses are little dull," he said. "That's what I came here about, actually. Or something like that."

He paused, drawing circles on the table with his finger. They made little steam marks, then disappeared.

"Well?" Percy pressed.

"I hear things, you know, being dead," Nico continued. "Well I heard things before I was dead, too, but that's not the point. I hear the spirits, and they're restless. And I hear my father, and his wife, and her ghastly mother."

He looked irritated for a moment, but it passed.

"Usually I don't hear anything interesting, and I just move along," he continued. "But your name came up… and I couldn't help but listen in."

Percy's eyes met Annabeth's again, this time in concern.

"Me? Why me?"

"Well, not you, specifically, but, 'Jackson,' so it could be you," he said, then his eyes moved to Annabeth. "… or you." His eyes moved again, this time to the door behind him. "Or…"

Annabeth stood quickly, but Nico looked back at her.

"Don't worry, they're fine," he said, but she didn't look reassured. "But something is stirring. Most demigods don't live long enough to reach your age. Rarely do they have children. And it's almost unheard of for them to have children with another demigod."

"What's your point?" Percy asked, unable to mask the concern in his voice.

"I'm saying that there are many people who take interest in these matters, Percy Jackson, and the little kiddos won't be safe for much longer, even way out here," Nico said, gesturing to the wilderness below them. "And your shields aren't as strong as you think they are. I got in, after all."

Annabeth slowly sat back down. "So you're saying someone is coming after us?"

"Oh, no one, yet," Nico said nonchalantly. "Word of the children is spreading, but no one knows what they are yet. Half-bloods like their parents? Or did they just get the mortal genes? Or, even less likely…"

Percy gulped. "Gods?" he whispered.

Nico's eyes stared coldly into his. "Anything is possible."

Annabeth's hand moved to Percy's knee, grasping it tightly. Feeling her touch made him instantly warmer, the fear caused by Nico's aura draining away, the darkness and the cold flushing out of his body. But the concern was still there.

"Don't worry about it too much, Percy," Nico said, standing. "Go back to being a Sailor Scout Leader, and Annabeth can keep being an architect. Just keep it in the back of your minds, you know? That someday things are gonna change. Maybe you'll be lucky. Maybe they'll both be mortals, and won't have to worry about all the hardship of the truth. Maybe they won't be as lucky. You won't know for a while. But I just wanted to let you know—it's stirring."

Percy nodded, but stayed silent.

"Thank you, Nico," Annabeth said. "For coming to us."

"Yeah," Percy said after her, but his voice was quieter. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said, his cards magically reappearing in his hands. "You know, I never should've tossed these. Being a ten-year-old kid was fun. I shouldn't have let it slip away so easily."

"You didn't have a choice," Percy said, smiling at him. "None of us did."

He grabbed Annabeth's hand and squeezed it.

"Well, it was good seeing you two," Nico said. "I gotta go, but remember—I'll be watching."

Nico winked, and in a puff of smoke, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Heirloom**

**By The Inamorata**

**Original Publish Date: October 13, 2011**

**Chapter Two Publish Date: October 15, 2011**

A/N: Thanks for the positive feedback. As always, constructive criticism is always welcome, so if you have something on your mind, please be honest! Also any suggestions are welcome.

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><p><strong>Heirloom - Chapter Two<strong>

The Jackson household on a Thursday morning was just like any other American household. The first thing Percy did was shave the shadow of stubble that grew on his chin, and Annabeth combed through her blonde hair, which she'd kept at a medium length. They stood at their bathroom mirror side by side and had polite morning conversation, like any other couple would.

"This whole business is making me anxious," Percy said, recalling Nico's visit the night before. All of the cold had left the house since then, leaving a nice warm sunlight filtering through the cotton curtains on their windows.

"You and me both," she replied, and put the hairbrush down and sighed. "I'm nervous, Percy. I knew something like this would happen, I mean, we talked about it, but now that it's actually here…"

Percy rinsed the remaining shaving cream off his face haphazardly, as if he were splashing water everywhere. But when he was done the excess had found itself in the drain instead of on the tile floor. He didn't even need to pat his face dry. He turned to look at the woman next to him: Annabeth, his partner in crime, his best friend, his lover, his wife. He touched her shoulder gently with his palm and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"It will be fine," he said confidently. "No matter what happens they have us, and I mean, we've been through a lot. We can teach them how to defend themselves."

"You're right," she said, seeming a little more comfortable. "We can protect them. After all we've been through, we'll know how to keep them safe."

Percy shook his head. "We can try, but we can't protect them forever, I just mean that they have a little more guidance, is all. No absent parent," he said, and the water in the sink gurgled. He chuckled. "But most importantly, they have each other. They'll help each other more than we can help them."

Annabeth nodded, then embraced Percy, holding him close to her. "There's my pride again," she said into his clavicles. "Thinking I can do everything for them…"

"They'll be fine," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Promise."

Sunlight danced on the lushly carpeted floor of a circular room. It was a perfect circle, so perfect that even the wooden door had a slight curvature to it. The furniture did as well, with a bed on the left and a desk and wardrobe on the right, and in the middle scattered books littered the carpeting.

The had soft, pastel blue sheets, with a sheer princess canopy hanging daintily from the ceiling. Underneath the covers was a small body, with dirty blonde hair that spilled over the flower-print pillowcases. This was the bed of Irene Jackson, the eldest of the Jackson children.

On the edge of her bed small fingers appeared, clutching to the wooden side. Then a mess of flaming red hair appeared, followed by deep, gray eyes, peering over at the sleeping girl. One of his hands moved, and with a single index finger he poked her. She didn't stir. So he poked again. And again. And soon he was using all of his fingers, tickling wildly at the girl's stomach. She groaned and rolled over.

"Leon!" she said sternly. "Go away."

The boy laughed, blew a raspberry behind her back, and then ran out of the room.

Leon Jackson was the younger of the two Jackson children, with his sister being three years older than him. He ran down the hall and into the kitchen, nearly knocking over his mother who was getting a frying pan out of the cupboard.

"Hey buddy, be careful!" Percy called from the doorway as Leon ran past him, too, and into his own bedroom. Percy met his wife's eyes and they shared a smirk.

Leon's room was quite different than Irene's; while Irene was a little cluttered, Leon's bedroom looked like a disaster area. Toy battleships where strewn across the floor, some solid plastic, some built out of Legos, meaning bits and pieces had flown all across the carpet. The red sheets of his bed were tossed around haphazardly, and clashed drastically with the blue walls. Leon insisted most of his belongings be red and blue; red, fiery, like his hair, and blue for the ocean, his dad's favorite place to take him on weekends. They'd make the hour drive to the dock almost every Saturday, where his father owned sailboat with white sails, one of the only sailboats among many motorboats.

"A boat should move with the ocean," his father had told him. "Not the ocean with the boat."

Leon and Irene's father was the leader of the local Sailor Scouts; a lot like boy scouts, except they did mostly sailing and things related to the water. When they didn't go to the ocean, they went to the lake and rowed around in a small rowboat, which was difficult for Leon, but his father seemed to be the best rower in the world, in Leon's eyes.

These constant trips made the ocean one of Leon's favorite places, too, which seemed to make his father happy. The best trip of all was to visit Grandma in New York, where they'd stay in a small cabin in Montauk. At first, Leon had complained about the run-down cabin, but the longer he spent on the beaches there with his sister, the more he felt a sort of magic emerging from the water, something special about the waves. He couldn't explain it, but he knew Irene had felt it, too. She couldn't explain it either, but the feeling seemed to run in the family. Everyone seemed to think there was something mystical about that beach, and that's why they returned to it again and again.

Leon sat down right in the middle of the mess of battleships and Legos. The set up was rather elaborate, like an organized chaos. On one side were the defenders, with ships coming out from a makeshift cardboard harbor, defending the most amazing city on the planet; Leon called it Megatown. This was because his mother had bought him the Architecture line of Lego sets, which had famous monuments from all sorts of different cities. These weren't actually very fun to play with after they were built since they were just buildings, but Leon had built them nonetheless. All of the skyscrapers in the country seemed to converge in this one city: Megatown. And it was being attacked, of course, by invaders, who wanted to take it over. These invaders were on the offensive side of the set up. His father had bought him all of the boating Legos, and these were much more Leon's style.

One of the offensive ships was about to blow up the Empire State Building when there was a knock on Leon's door. It was his mother.

"Breakfast, Leon," she said, opening the door partway. The path was blocked by a pile of broken-up battleships. She rolled her eyes. "You're going to need to clean this up if you want to go sailing today."

"Yeah, okay," he said, and followed her out of the room, not really intending to clean anything at all.

The four Jackson's sat around the breakfast table, feasting on eggs, bacon, toast, and oatmeal.

"The toast is a little burnt," Percy noted, taking a large bite, regardless.

"Well is _someone_ hadn't been distracting me," Annabeth said pointedly, giving him a death glare. Percy just shrugged and smiled as best he could with a mouthful of bread.

"Mom," Irene began, still in her pajamas. Her eyes were gray, like her mother's, but her hair had Percy's darkness in it. "My friend Lizzie's mom is taking her to the mall this afternoon, and she said I could come. Can I _please_ go?"

Annabeth shook her head. "You're dad's taking you sailing today, darling, you know that."

"But can't I miss it? Just this once? I mean it's not like the ocean changes at all," she said, sounding annoyed. "Please? The mall is so far away, we _never_ go…"

Annabeth pursed her lips and looked at Percy. "It's up to you."

"How can you not want to go sailing?" has asked, as if it were the strangest thing in the world. "It's your favorite thing, you told me."

"Yeah, when I was like, seven," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm twelve now, practically a teenager. I don't _want_ to go sailing, I wanna go to the mall. Please?"

Percy shook his head. "No, I don't like this Lizzie girl. Isn't she the one who tried to get you to wear lipstick?"

"It was lip _gloss_," Irene corrected.

"Whatever, you don't need to wear makeup just to get boys to like you—"

Irene's cheeks turn bright red. "I didn't do it for that!" she shouted, threw down her fork, and ran to her room. Leon stuck out his tongue after her.

"Well _I _still wanna go sailing," Leon said, and Percy smiled, patting his son on the shoulder.

"That's my boy," he said. "Your grandpa would be proud."

There's that word again, Leon thought. _Grandpa._ His father seemed to mention him a lot; he was, according to him, the best seaman in the world. Leon didn't think it was possible for anyone to be better at sailing than his father, especially since he had never met his grandfather before.

"_He guided me through the most difficult times of my life_," his father told him once. "_Maybe one day, he'll guide you, too_."

"_Can't I meet him?_" Leon had asked, but his dad just smiled, and Leon thought he looked kind of said.

"_Maybe someday, but honestly, I don't know,"_ he had said. "_My dad's about as predictable as the weather."_

Leon remembered his father's grimace when he said that, but why he would have resentment toward the weather, Leon had no clue.

"So are you gonna let her go to the mall?" Leon asked, coming back to the present. His father lifted his eyebrows.

"After that? Not a chance," he said. "But if she's grumpy maybe we can lock her in the bathroom below deck."

"Percy!" his mother scolded, but Leon laughed.

"Only joking," Percy said, but Leon saw his smile.

Percy put his fork down on his cleaned plate and checked his watch.

"Let's see… we'll leave around eleven, so be ready, okay, champ?" Percy said to Leon, ruffling his red hair and making it even more tangled.

"Okay," Leon said through a mouth of partly chewed food. His sister Irene might not enjoy sailing, but Leon hadn't been lying; it really was one of his favorite things in the world. He couldn't imagine a life where he couldn't go sailing with his father.

Salt. The endless smell of salt, and something else, slightly tangy, that Leon couldn't describe with any other words except for _ocean_. With his hands on the wooden railing of the bow, he could feel the wind blowing through his hair as if he were flying. In a way, he was; flying across the water as the ship cut through the current like a knife through softened butter, nothing but wind in the sails and in his ears. The way the ship moved through the water seemed almost magical; every Saturday the winds were just right, like every day was a perfect sailing day.

Leon wished his sister could appreciate the open sea the way he did; instead she sat in a lawn chair behind him, which had been set up just for her. She wore a bikini and big sunglasses that her eyes look like those of an insect, and her dirty blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail. She laid on her stomach, letting her back get full sun, and doodled fashion designs in a sketchbook. His father was at the stern pulling ropes and adjusting the sails.

Irene put her pencil down and looked around; Leon could practically see her roll her eyes behind the sunglasses.

"Dad," she called, her voice crisp over the quiet ocean air.

"What is it?" he replied.

"I would like sailing better if I could have a cell phone," she said.

Percy walked over to them; his hair was just about as messy as Leon's. The sleeves of his white button-down shirt were rolled up, and his khaki shorts billowed in the wind. He wiped the sweat off his brow and looked at her.

"What do you need one of those for?"

"To talk to my _friends_," she said, putting extra emphasis on friends.

"Duh," Leon mocked in a high-pitched voice. She threw him a dirty look.

"All of them cell phones, dad, and they all hang out without me," she complained.

"Don't you like spending time with the family?" Percy asked.

"Not really, this is practically guy time, I hate it," she said, and Percy looked a little hurt.

"Don't make us lock you in the bathroom," Leon threatened.

"Shut up!" Irene snapped.

"Hey, everybody calm down," Percy said. It was times like these he was glad he never had an older sister. "Irene, you're not getting a cell phone, and you're not getting locked in the bathroom."

"What, but dad—"

He cut her off. "You're also not winning any points with that attitude," he said sternly. "Now, just enjoy—"

Percy stopped talking. Everything was quiet for a moment, and his children just stared at him.

"Uh, dad?" Leon asked, but Percy shushed him.

"Be quiet," he whispered sharply, then he turned towards the stern. "Irene, stand with your brother."

"Dad, what's—"

"Do it!" he whispered urgently. Irene's expression of annoyance quickly turned into concern. She put the sketchbook down and stood up, walking over to Leon. The two looked around the ocean, suddenly scared, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

Their father stood in front of them, his left arm extended as if to block them from something, his right hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out a ballpoint pen.

Leon was staring at his father, but then something didn't feel right; it was like something was moving, and it wasn't the boat, which had, in fact, stopped as the wind died. Everything was still, except this feeling in Leon's gut that something was wrong, wrong, wrong, and every instinct told him to run as fast and as far as he could. But on this boat, there was nowhere to run to. Without thinking, he grasped his sister's hand, and the way she looked at him made him wonder if she could sense it, too.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She was looking around the water for something, anything, but Leon knew that it wasn't in the water: it was in the sky. He shook his head, his lips sealed shut out of fear.

There was something flying through the sky, but Leon quickly realized it was a flock of somethings, not just one. His eyes were focused on them as they came closer, but in his peripheral vision he could see is father uncap his pen, and suddenly, in his hand, appeared a long, bronze sword that seemed to radiate light and power. He was about to ask what it was, but Percy spoke first.

"Stymphalian birds," he said, backing up closer to them. These were like no other birds Leon had ever seen; their beaks were brown with a golden sheen, like they were made out of metal, and their feathers seemed just as metallic and their eyes demonic. As they came closer, Leon realized they weren't the size of the everyday pigeon, more like an everyday bald eagle. One of them opened its beak, and Leon could have sworn a small puff of flame appeared.

"Okay," Percy said, gripping his sword tighter, his voice a little uncertain. "Giant Stymphalian birds that breath fire."

Irene screamed and crouched on the floor, covering her head with her arms, and it took all of Leon's will to not do the same. His eyes were glued on the flock flying towards them, and with almost one hundred percent certainty he was sure they were going to kill him.

Percy turned towards his two children. "Everything will be fine," he said, and closed his eyes. Leon had never seen his eyes so passionate before, and every word his father said, he believed.

Without warning, the sails filled with air. The water seemed to rumble beneath them, like an invisible motor pushing them along with the current, but this was not a motorboat. Leon watched with fascination as they zoomed away from the flock of birds; but it seemed to move just as quickly as the boat was.

Suddenly his father's eyes snapped open. He was staring straight at Leon.

"Get your sister inside," he said. "When I give you the signal, you need to blow the ships horn. Got it?" Leon didn't hesitate; he grabbed Irene's arm, and she went with him easily. Behind her lawn chair was the door to the captain's quarters; a small room with a desk and stairs to below deck, where there was a bathroom, a small kitchen, and a bed. In the door was a thick, round glass window. Leon bolted the door shut behind them.

Irene dashed down the stairs as quickly as she could, and Leon could hear her sobs through the floorboards. He heard the bathroom door shut and lock beneath him. All of Leon's instincts told him to hide, but he couldn't leave his father. He pressed his face to the glass and watched his father hold his sword high facing the sky above them. Beneath him he could feel the ship slowing, the low rumbling dissipating. And then, eerily, like listening through earplugs, he heard the sickening flapping of the flock right above him. His father pointed right at him, and that was the cue.

Just beside the door was a chain with a porcelain handle, like an ancient toilet flusher. Leon didn't think twice before grasping the handle and pulling as hard as he could.

The deafening foghorn blared across the open sea, penetrating the small cabin and vibrating the floorboards. Leon's ears stung from the noise, but he couldn't let go. He watched through the window as his father effortlessly swung his sword, swatting bird after bird, and watched them disappear into dust. Many of the birds flew in haphazard directions, confused by the sound. Finally the birds stopped attacking his father, and he pointed at Leon again, and Leon let the handle go. The silence was almost as deafening as the noise.

Slowly Leon unlatched the lock, but it was difficult considering how much his hands were shaking. His father walked in, his button-down shirt torn and sweaty, his magical sword gone, but Leon didn't care; he threw himself into the comfort of his father's arms, leaning into his warm, safe body, and finally let the tears begin to flow.

Percy patted his son on the head. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay," he said calmly, over and over. Irene was still locked in the bathroom, to scared to come out.

"Dad," Leon managed to say between sobs. "What were those things? What… what was that?"

Percy's voice sounded pained.

"That," he said, "was your first monster attack."


End file.
